


The Words We Should Have Said

by claro



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mpreg, NOT OMEGAVERSE, Post Mpreg, written at 3AM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-06 00:29:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5395817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claro/pseuds/claro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft has been keeping secrets, Greg is not pleased and it all basically goes to hell from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Lestrade was halfway home when he got the call. He made it a point to answer John’s calls, after all, there had been more than enough incidents over the years where Sherlock was involved. He pulled into the side of the road and fumbled for his phone with a sigh.  
‘What’s he done now?’ Greg had been looking forward to a quiet night in front of the TV, perhaps a late dinner with Mycroft if he made it home from the office before midnight, which he’d been managing less and less in recent months sometimes the only evidence he had been home at all was a slight wrinkling of the covers on Mycroft’s side and his shirt in the laundry basket.  
John’s voice was tight, ‘I can’t really explain over the phone, but there’s been an accident and you really need to come now.’  
‘What sort of accident?’ Greg sighed. Some of Sherlock’s ‘accidents’ in the past had been the cause of many headaches.  
‘Mycroft...’  
Greg didn’t hear John’s next few words due to the sudden roar in his ears. He gripped the steering wheel, feeling suddenly hot and cold at once, unable to hold his head up any more. This was it. This was the call. The fear of that call was an ever present one in his life, and here he was getting it, sitting in his car in the sweltering summer heat. He thought he was going to throw up.  
‘Greg?’ John had clearly repeated his name several times.  
‘H-how?’  
‘There was an accident,’ John said carefully, ‘Mycroft’s in a bad way,’ John paused, clearly unsure what to say next. It didn’t matter anyway, because Greg didn’t hear any of it.  
He had the sirens on before he’d even ended the call.

#

One of Mycroft’s minions was standing waiting for him and led him silently to Mycroft. John was in the corridor outside, but Sherlock was nowhere to be seen.  
‘What happened?’ Greg demanded.  
‘A lorry ran the red light,’ John was factual and to the point, ‘Sherlock and Anthea are okay, but Mycroft wasn’t wearing his seat belt.’  
Greg felt a surge of anger. They had that argument almost every day.  
But he didn’t get a chance to say any more because at that moment the door opened and a doctor came out with a grave expression. He did not look pleased to have to deal with Greg, but the minion beside them shifted slightly, and the doctor just looked at the policeman.  
‘Mr Lestrade?’  
Greg could only nod a response.  
‘Your partner is being prepped for surgery. He hit his head very hard and his internal injuries are worrying,’ there was a pause as the doctor looked at his notes, ‘However, the shock has triggered premature labour. We’re trying to stop it, but we feel that it’s best if we deliver the baby now. It will give both of them a chance, but obviously there are no guarentees in these circumstances.’  
Greg had been so busy processing that Mycroft was still alive that he missed what the doctor had been saying and blinked as his brain caught up with the words.  
‘The what?’

#

Sherlock reappeared as the unconsious Mycroft was wheeled from A and E to surgery, where an incubator and a doctor from maternity were already waiting.  
Greg watched the team go, and only managed a glimpse of Mycroft, shocked at the blood that covered the man’s face and clothes. The he rounded on Sherlock.  
‘I am only going to ask you this once, and God help you if you don’t tell me the truth. Did. You. Know?’  
Sherlock held the DI’s gaze for a long moment, ‘Yes.’  
‘And I suppose you two,’ he indicated John, ‘Had a good laugh about that. Slow witted detective can’t spot when his partner’s pregnant.’  
‘I didn’t know.’  
‘Yeah right, he tells you everything.’  
‘I didn’t tell John,’ Sherlock said, ‘Why would I? It’s Mycroft’s business.’  
Greg was rendered speechless.  
‘To be fair,’ John said to his flatmate, ‘You could have dropped a hint.’  
Sherlock shrugged, ‘I assumed Mycroft had his reasons.’  
‘And what was he going to do when the baby was born? It’s not exactly something you can hide at the bottom of the wardrobe?’  
There was a pause and when Sherlock spoke his expression was surprisingly understanding, perhaps John was rubbing off on him after all.  
‘I believe my brother was under the impression that you would leave him.’  
‘Why would he think- oh, christ!’  
Old conversations came back to hit him in the face, and Greg sank down into a chair as his legs gave out below him.  
‘Greg?’ John was concerned, and when Greg looked up at him his face was wretched.  
‘I told him I didn’t want kids. I told him over and over. That’s why he think I’d leave him.’ he blinked at John, ‘What do I do?’  
‘I think,’ Sherlock said evenly, ‘That you should go and watch your daughter being born.’

#

Greg wasn’t allowed in theatre, but he was allowed, despite John’s advice, to watch from outside as Mycroft underwent an emergency section. He found himself scruitinising the other man’s body, and now that he knew what he was looking for, the small, neat bump, barely visible, caught his full attention. He’d noticed that Mycroft had gained a little weight, but had put it down to stress eating in recent months. He’d had no reason to suspect anything else. He’d never suspect that Mycroft’s meticulously tailored suits had been hiding a baby for six months.  
And then, in a matter of moments, the tiniest human being he had ever seen was suddenly in the room, briskly checked by doctors and then whisked away before Greg got a chance to take it all in.  
He was torn whether to follow her or stay with Mycroft. It was John who made the decision for him.  
‘What would Mycroft want you to do?’  
And Greg was off down the hall after the rushing doctors. He was kept back as they worked on the tiny baby, and by the time Greg was able to see, he was shocked at how fragile the little form was, clad only in a tiny nappy that was still too big, and a pink hat that clashed with the little strands poking out from underneath.  
Pink.  
A girl.  
Whatever Greg had expected to feel in the last twenty minutes, it was nothing compared to the shock that came when he lay eyes on the baby that was barely larger than his hand.  
‘Is...she okay in there?’ he asked the nurse who was filling out notes.  
She nodded, giving him a reassuring smile.  
‘What about the accident? My...Myc was in a car accident....’  
‘She had a bit of a shock, but she was well protected in there.’  
‘She warm enough?’  
The nurse nodded again, kind and patient and clearly used to dealing with anxious parents.  
Parent.  
Fucking hell. In less than half an hour he’d become a parent. He blinked.  
‘What’s that light for?’  
‘She’s got a touch of jaundice,’ the nurse explained and then, under Greg’s questioning, she informed him what the various sensors and tubes attached to her little body did, and Greg felt a surge of panic.  
He stayed with her, just looking at her, until Sherlock was sent by John to say that Mycroft was out of surgery but was still unconscious.  
‘Oh,’ Sherlock stopped him by the door, but his eyes were firmly fixed on the incubator Greg had been standing at, ‘Mummy has arrived.’

#

John and Greg shared the same opinion about the Holmes matriarch, and it was not flattering. Even so, Greg wasn’t prepared to be banned from the recovery room by a screeching woman in tweed. Fortunately John was on hand to try and keep the peace.  
‘She can’t ban me from seeing him!’ Greg was yelling.  
‘She can. You aren’t his next of kin.’  
‘But we’re-’  
‘I know that, Greg. But this is the way it is.’  
Greg wouldn’t plead. He wouldn’t give the old bitch the satisfaction. Instead he took a deep breath and tried to sound calm.  
‘How is he?’  
John nodded, ‘He’s still out, will be for a while.They had to remove one of his kidneys-’  
‘Why?’  
‘It sort of...burst.’  
‘But he’s-?’  
‘We’ll know more soon,’ John paused, ‘Look, I shouldn’t be telling you this, but he took a real blow to the head. They’re going to keep him out for a while.’  
‘How long?’  
John just shook his head, ‘I don’t know.’  
‘John, be honest with me.’  
‘I’m just a GP.’  
‘But you were a surgeon.’  
There was a long pause as John grappled with what he should say, ‘He might not come round, and even then he could have some brain damage, and he’s likely to have some vision problems, but they won’t know until the swelling reduces enough to assess the full extent of the damage.’  
Never in his life had Greg made the sound that was ripped from his chest at John’s words, and he was only just aware of John’s hands supporting him.  
‘I take it Mummy Dearest knows about...?’ he couldn’t bring himself to say ‘the baby.’  
John just nodded.  
‘And I don’t suppose we can keep her away?’  
‘If we prove she’s yours then you’ll have parental rights.’  
‘Of course she’s mine!’  
‘That remains to be seen,’ a female voice sounded from the door.  
‘You-!’  
‘At the end of the day my son kept his condition a secret from you and we have to assume there’s a reason.’  
Greg just gaped at her, unable to believe what this woman was suggesting. But then a tiny, traitorous part of his mind questioned whether she was right.  
‘Greg,’ John laid a hand on his arm, ‘Come away.’  
Following the doctor, Greg reluctantly left Mycroft behind with his mother.  
John made some sounds about paternity tests that Greg just dismissed.  
She was his until Mycroft said she wasn’t.

#

The onslaught from Mummy only ceased when Mycroft’s father arrived bearing coffee. He was a gentle and unsupposing man, and how he had managed to end up with a wife like that, Greg would never know.  
‘Greg. How are you doing? Bit shocked, hmm?’  
‘Bit of an understatement, sir.’  
‘Mycroft can be...complicated when it comes to logic,’ his father said tactfully, ‘Sometimes it can be hard to understand why he does things.’  
Greg knew that better than anyone else, but he didn’t have the heart to tell the elderly man that he knew why Mycroft had done it. Instead he just nodded and stayed silent, watching Mummy inside the ward, peering critically at his daughter. Her lips where pursed as she took in the red hair.  
‘She looks just like Mycroft when he was small,’ Mr Holmes went on.  
Greg could only nod.  
‘He wouldn’t have hurt you on purpose.’  
‘Wouldn’t he?’ trying hard to ignore the fact that Mycroft was a man who had helped one brother fake his own death and shot his other brother in the head.  
‘Not you,’ he was assured.

#

Mycroft had been delicate when discussing his gender. Hermaphrodite. Duo. There were a lot of names, some more unpleasant than others. They were uncommon, and made up about ten percent of the population. They were still highly valued as sex workers and made large fortunes in the porn industry. Everyone wanted a duo.  
So it had come as a bit of a surprise when about a year after they met, Mycroft had quietly confessed over several bottles of wine.  
‘Can I see?’ Greg had been almost giddy with excitement.  
‘No you may not!’ Mycroft pulled a face and changed the topic and it was never mentioned again until after they had tentatively begun a relationship and the children conversation came up for the first time.  
‘So, are you even....fertile?’ Greg struggled with what he knew about duos.  
Mycroft had simply smirked at him and how uncomfortable he was, ‘You want to know if I’m a little boy or a little girl?’  
‘No!’ Greg knew enough to know that duos didn’t like to have their gender described like that/ He’d made enough arrests where a fight had broken out because someone had been crude and ignorant with their language.  
But Mycroft just laughed, ‘Tell me what you think?’  
In Greg’s opinion there was only one possible answer for the powerful man sitting opposite him.  
‘Male fertile.’ Despite having both sex organs, duos were only fertile with one.  
He couldn’t stop his mouth falling open when Mycroft shook his head.  
There was only one way the following conversation was going to go.  
Greg was adamant about it. and never wavered from his stance. Mycroft had just nodded and said nothing more. He took his birth control religiously and Greg was meticulous about condoms. It had been drilled into him by his mother when he was younger, and aside from one or two bad ideas when he was in his twenties, and that one, single night when he and Mycroft had gotten a bit carried away, he had never taken unnecessary risks.  
Of course, that one night would turn out to be the night Mycroft got pregnant. A fact that was not lost on the DI as he calcuated the dates in his head. And now there was a baby that Mycroft had kept secret because of those conversations.  
Sherlock had been unusually quiet, all of his attention focused on the small form in the other room. In any other circumstance it would have made Greg laugh at the obsessive way Sherlock catalogued every piece of information. Greg hadn’t left the hospital since Mycroft was rushed in. Mummy had backed off a little when Anthea had arrived with an official looking document on Mycroft’s stationary giving instructions that in the case of emergency Gregory Lestrade was allowed full access and information.  
Greg had glanced at the document and then raised an eyebrow at Anthea.  
‘That’s not Mycroft’s signature.’  
Anthea looked innocent, ‘Of course it is.’

#

The registrar came around to see what Greg wanted to call the baby.  
Greg just blinked at him for a long moment.  
‘What?’  
‘You need to register the birth,’ he prompted.  
Greg looked to John.  
‘A name,’ John repeated.  
‘We should wait for Mycroft to-’ Greg floundered under John’s sympathetic look.  
‘Greg.’  
‘He might have chosen something-’  
‘Greg,’ John said again, and this time there was no way of avoiding the weight of meaning in John’s tone.  
‘We shall call her Caled-’  
‘Violet,’ Greg said suddenly, cutting Mummy off before she could finish. He had no idea why, it was just the first name that popped into his head. He turned away from Mummy, who was glaring at him and clearly about to say something else.  
‘Violet,’ he repeated, more forcefully this time, before leaving the room to go and see her.

#

Mycroft had been in a medically induced coma for three weeks when Violet developed a chest infection and started to loose the weight she had so slowly put on since her unexpected birth. Greg didn’t leave her room, watching over her like a sentinel as she struggled inside her incubator, thinking how neither of them had even held her yet. Mycroft hadn’t even seen her.  
Greg woke from a brief nap to find Sherlock kneeling down so he was eye level with Violet, his face pressed to the plastic, much to the amusement of the ever present neo natal nurses.  
‘She can fit almost her whole hand in her mouth,’ Sherlock said without turning around, something approaching awe in her voice.  
Greg couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. Every day that Violet made it through was a day he felt a little more relieved. But at the same time, each passing day brought increased anxiety about Mycroft until the day Greg was informed Mycroft was coming around.  
It took several more days under sedation before Mycroft came around enough to realise where he was and the subsequent panic attack was alarming to hear about. Greg hadn’t been able to face Mycroft, chosing instead to stay with Violet until Mycroft’s father made several quiet comments about Mycroft that sent Greg to Mycroft’s room.   
Mycroft’s bruises had healed, but he was weak and frightened and had had been told several times what had happened, but it seemed that no reassurances were going to calm him, and his storm coloured eyes were pleading with Greg. Wordlessly the others left the room, leaving them alone, although it was clear that Mummy didn’t want to leave Mycroft.  
He tried to form words, but nothing was coming out. But Greg didn’t need to hear his words to know what Mycroft was trying to say.  
‘She’s down in maternity,’ Greg said softly,and for the next few days he told Mycroft everything he’d missed, but he avoided the conversation they really needed to have.

#

It was breaking Greg’s heart to see the look on Mycroft’s face. The fear, the anxiety and anticipation of the conversation they would have to have. In the end Greg took pity on him. He’d had several weeks to come to terms with things, to look back over the last months, the changes in their relationship, the decreasing intimacy and the increasing nights spent in their own respective flats.  
There were words hanging between them that became harder to say with each passing hour. Finally Greg could take it no more.  
‘Why?’ was all he managed, ‘Didn’t you want me involved?’  
Mycroft watched him for a long time, wariness in his eyes until eventually he spoke, his voice raspy with lack of use.  
‘I...’  
But suddenly Greg couldn’t stand to hear Mycroft say the words. Not yet. Instead he went to convince a doctor to let him take Mycroft down to maternity to finally see the daughter he’d wanted so much.


	2. Chapter 2

The first time they got to hold Violet she was almost five weeks old, and the nurse lifted her out carefully and handed her to Mycroft, who was so overwhelmed he was shaking and watching from the corner of the room Greg felt a familiar pang of love that had never fully gone away.  
'Why Violet?' Mycroft asked.  
Greg shrugged, suddeny self-concious, 'I don't know. I needed to pick a name and...' he didn't say why he'd had to do it, or the implications it had held at the time, they both knew, 'You don't have to call her that. It's up to you.'  
There was a long silence, and then Mycroft shook his head.  
'I like it.'  
Without realising he’d moved, Greg found himself standing beside Mycroft, his hand on the back on Mycroft’s neck as he looked down at them.  
At Greg’s touch, the first one they had shared in weeks, Mycroft lifted his head and met his eyes just for a second, questioning and hopeful. And then he dropped his gaze again, a blush creeping up the back of his neck.  
It was the last time Greg touched Mycroft until Mycroft was released from hospital, and then it was only to help Mycroft into his jacket, moving away immediately afterwards.

#

'You don't have to call her that. It's up to you.'  
It took all of Mycroft's self control not to flinch at Gregory's words.  
'You.'  
That one word said everything. It distanced Gregory in a way that no other words could. You. Not us. You. Mycroft knew what that meant. Knew what Gregory was saying.  
He shook his head and focused on Violet to ease the ache in his chest.  
'I like it.'  
A soft brush of a finger across the back of his neck and he looked up in suprise to see Gregory smiling at him. He tried to smile back, but couldn't, and he dropped his gaze, his heart breaking all over again.

#

Several weeks later they got the news that Violet was allowed home, which raised some more questions that neither of them wanted to address just yet, but which hung over them.  
They took turns to stay at the hospital with Violet, so there was one of them with her at all times, which meant that Mycroft and Greg didn’t spend any time together. Where once they had hours of easy conversation, now they were only connected by the time they spent with Violet. Neither of them spoke about what would happen when Violet came home.  
There was no discussion over where Violet would live. She would stay with Mycroft, and Mummy had already had a new cot and furniture installed, and there was no point in arguing with her. Besides, it was up to Mycroft really, it was his home after all.  
His baby too. The desicions that were made without him were testiment to that. Mummy was operating behind the scenes to ensure everything was ready and no matter what Greg thought up or bought or suggested, it had already been covered. Once, just once, when the issue of the cot had come up, Greg had, as casually as he could manage, not wanting to make a big issue out of it, not wanting Mycroft to see how much it would mean to him, had mentioned that his parents still had his in their attic and he could get it shipped over from France if-  
'I've already ordered a new one from Harrods.' Mummy had said, not looking at Greg.  
Mycroft, who was holding Violet, looked up at him apologetically, and Greg had just shrugged and tried to smile like it was no big deal.  
'Just a suggestion,' he repeated, and never mentioned it again.  
He stopped mentioning things altogether after a while.  
Instead he spent as much time with Violet as possible - when he could pry her out of Sherlock's arms that was.  
Greg didn’t know what it would be like not to see her every day, and he’d put off that thought for as long as possible. But the day she came home, he could ignore it no longer.  
One of Mycroft’s drivers had collected them from hospital, and Greg had noted the careful way Mycroft fastened his seatbelt. When they reached Mycroft’s house, Greg carried her car seat in and carefully lifted her out and handed her to Mycroft while he went to prepare a feed for her. Mycroft was under strict instructions to take it easy, and that included when it came to Violet's care.  
'Major surgery,' John had reminded him over and over, 'So let Greg do the hard work, okay.'  
It hadn't really been a suggestion, and since Mycroft hadn't voiced any opposition, Greg said nothing. Still, it was a slight surprise to find a hold all full of his clothes waiting for him at Mycroft's. Courtesy of Anthea, no doubt. They were sitting on the upstairs landing, exactly halfway between the doors of Mycroft's bedroom, and the spare room, as if asking a question.   
Wordlessly, Greg had picked up the bag and carried it through to the spare room, saving an awkward conversation with Mycroft.  
They sat in quiet contentment for hours before Mycroft’s eyes started to droop, and Greg helped him change and settle Violet in the cot which occupied a large part of Mycroft’s bedroom. He helped the still healing Mycroft to change, and for a moment he wanted nothing more than to climb into bed with him and wrap his arms around him. Instead he checked on Violet, adjusting her blankets. When he looked around, Mycroft was already fast asleep.  
He stood for a long moment taking in the serenity of the room, then he sighed and pulled the door over behind him, and, unwilling to leave, he took himself to the spare room, leaving the door open so he could hear if Violet cried.

#

Mycroft listened to the sound of Gregory moving across the hall upstairs. The pause as he lifted his bag. And then the continuation of his footsteps as he walked through to the spare room.  
In the armchair downstairs, Mycroft closed his eyes.

#

Because Mycroft was still recovering, Greg was the one who carried the sleeping Violet upstairs, following Mycroft, who was moving slowly and struggling for breath at times.  
Mycroft made a move to take Violet to settle her, but Greg shoed him away towards bed, as he eyed the monstrosity that Mummy had ordered.  
It was exactly the sort of thing he could picture in Mycroft's family home. Huge, heavy and strangely oppressive. A baby prison.  
He pursed his lips and said nothing.

#

Three days later Mycroft was making a pot of tea while Gregory went to settle Violet. He heard the careful tread of feet across the hall, the gentle swing off the door, and then the pause.  
That pause went on for a long time, and for every second of it Mycroft held his breath, wondering if he had done the right thing after all.  
Eventually there was the creak of the floor and the soft shuffle of blankets, the sounds amplified as Gregory turned the baby monitor on.  
He came down the stairs slower than usual and paused for a second in the door way to the kitchen, looking as if he were about to say something. Then he gave a slight nod and turned back to the TV.

#

Greg reached for the switch inside the door and stopped as the room was bathed in soft light, his breath catching in his throat.  
Where Violet's cot had sat there was now a softly rounded, aged pine one. Old fashioned and simple.   
He wanted to cry.  
Because he knew exactly where that cot had come from. Knew who's teethmarks were still visible on the top rail. And he knew...he swallowed hard. He knew exactly who's blanet that was freshly washed and floded neated at the bottom of the matress.  
He held Violet close for a long moment, breathing in her smell as emotion threatened to overwhelm him. Then he laid her down gently and covered her with the age softed blanket in blues and whites, and flicked on the baby monitor.  
The stairs were strangely hard to navigate, and it seemed to take him a long time to make it to the bottom. When he did, Mycroft was filling the teapot, he looked up Greg paused in the door, but neither of them spoke.  
Greg wanted to tell Mycroft thank you. How much it meant to him. But there was something wary, worried in the other man's face that stopped him. So he just inclined his head in recognition and turned away before his expression gave him away.


	3. Chapter 3

And that was how life went on. And neither of them spoke about it. They shared the parenting, and conversation became easier between them, less tense, but only so far as day to day topics were concerend. Meals were shared and to all intents and purposes they were a happy little family.  
But Greg slept in the spare room and aside from accidental touches, he and Mycroft maintained a respectful distance from each other. Greg couldn't seem to get past the tension that seemed to taint the very edges of every word they uttered to each other, so eventually he picked up the phone.

#

Mycroft had been working in his home office, a fact made possible thanks to the little rocking crib that had been a gift, or possibly a hint, from some of his collegues, and which fit nicely beside Mycroft's desk, so he could keep one eye on his laptop and one eye on Violet.  
He had just finished a rather taxing phone call with the Danish ambassador when he became aware of Gregory's voice coming through the front door.  
'Yeah, dinner would be great. I'll pick up? About...'  
Mycroft didn't hear the rest of the conversation because Gregory had moved through to the kitchen. But he didn't need to hear it.   
Dinner.  
Gregory was going out for dinner. Someone that made him speak in that friendly, familiar tone he used to speak to Mycroft with.  
Gregory was going on a date.  
Mycroft blinked hard and half rose in his seat, a sudden urge to go and stop him. To grab hold of him and ask him not to go.  
But the phone on his desk rang and he sat down with a sigh for a two hour conference with the Prime Minister.

#

'So...?' John prompted as he picked up his fork, 'Things are...okay?'  
Greg shrugged, 'I suppose. There...Actually, no. They aren't.' he ran a hand through his short hair, 'I mean, we're friendly and we talk and that's all...fine. But it's not like it was. I'm sleeping in the spare room.'  
John frowned, 'Hmm.' He seemed to consider this for a moment as he chewed slowly, 'Why?'  
'To be honest, I have no idea. I'd been staying at my flat while Violet was in hospital, but when she came out my bag was at Myc's and...we well, he was still recovering...I mean, they basically had to cut him in half, and I didn't want to risk rolling over and hurting him or something, so I thought that it would be best if I slept in the spare room.'  
There was a silence for a moment and John nodded in understanding.  
'What else?'  
'What do you mean?'  
'You know what I mean.' John fixed Greg with his Captain Watson stare and Greg relented.  
'There's just this constant sort of...tension. Like there's so much not being said, and I thought it was just me. But sometimes Myc looks like...' he trailed off, pushing a piece of chicken across his plate, his appetite gone, 'How did you and Mary get past all this after Katie was born?'  
'We got divorced.'  
There was silence folling John's frank statement, but eventually, in a softer tone, the doctor spoke again.  
'Have you talked to Mycroft about any of this?'  
Greg shook his head.  
'Maybe you should.'

#

Gregory didn't come home.   
Home.  
Mycroft mentally shook himself for thinking that word. It wasn't Gregory's home after all. The man still had his own flat. He was just...staying to help in the first couple of weeks. That was all.  
He was a grown man. He could do whatever he wanted to do. With whoever he wanted.  
Mycroft didn't even admit to himself that he was laying away listening for Gregory's key in the door until the clock by his bed read four am, by which point it was obvious that Gregory wasn't going to return. And why would he? Why would a man like Gregory, who had been lied to and hurt and humiliated, yes, humiliated. Mycroft had heard some of the comments people had whispered about Gregory over the last few weeks, and while the man never said, Mycroft knew they must have upset him.  
Eventually Mycroft climbed out of bed and padded into Gregory's room and retrieved the pillow from the bed there, carrying it back into hiw room with him, and allowing himself the small, and painful, indulgence of curling up with it, breathing in Gregory's scent.  
He would ensure the laundry was the first task for the housekeeper in the morning.

#

Sometime around half eleven John's suggestion of getting completely shit faced had seemed like a brilliant idea. At around 2am it became apparent that returning to Mycroft, and Violet, smelling like whiskey and cigarettes would not be appreciated. So he'd gone back to his own flat and fallen asleep on his uncomfortable sofa, waking up with a crick in his neck and hangover.  
Work was utter hell, and no amount of coffee helped. So by the time he got back to Mycroft's, all Greg could think about was a long cuddle with Violet, a shower and an early night.  
He found Mycroft and Violet in Mycroft's office, Violet was laying on a colourful mat on the floor, her fist in her mouth and her attention focused on the colourful shapes dangling above her.  
Mycroft looked up at him as he came in, and Greg could feel Mycroft deducing him.  
'Good night?'  
Greg nodded as he peeled off his jacket, 'Was alright,' he said warily.  
'And work?'  
At this Greg pulled a face, 'Honestly, I was on the verge of locking up both Donovan and Sherlock today. It was almost at the hair pulling and slapping stage.'  
And so, instead of the conversation either of them wanted to have, they both retreated the easier topic of Sherlock, and tried to ignore the slight relief that fell over the room.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh the angst. The angst. Here we are moving on a little in our timeline, Violet's getting older, Greg and Mycroft still can't communicate with each other, and no, John isn't sleeping with Sherlock.

Violet grew. She slept through the night. She learned to roll over, and then to sit up by herself, and suddenly she was six months old, with Mycroft’s intense expression and huge round eyes that took in everything around her.  
Mycroft was more or less working full time again, although much of that was done from home where he could. But eventually there came the day when their schedules conflicted with each other, and Mummy, who, much to Greg's irritation, had been a great help when it came to helping out with Violet.  
Greg had casually tried to suggest to Anthea that she might be able to take Violet for a couple of hours. He wouldn't forget the look she gave him in a hurry.  
So that left only one other option.

#

The first time Greg and Mycroft let Sherlock and John babysit there had been considerable tension beforehand, much of it from John, who also had his daughter Katie stay with them for the night. Mary had, in the last year, softened slightly in her attitude towards her ex, mostly because of Sherlock, it seemed. Sherlock lavished attention on his niece and Mary, keen, sharp Mary, had noticed. And eventually she concluded that Katie would be safe enough at Baker Street.  
And so on that first day with the two girls in the flat, John had come out of the shower to find Sherlock, Katie and Violet in the kitchen. Katie and Violet were wearing matching safety glasses and watching Sherlock with a solomn expression. Katie was eating toast while Violet was glaring at her baby porriage in disgust as Sherlock silumtaneaously tried to feed her and demonstrate how to make coloured smoke from various compounds.  
While the girls watched the demonstation, looking alarmingly adorable in their safety gear, John turned his back to fill the kettle. When he turned back, Katie’s face and hands were covered with jam and Violet was rubbing porriage thoughtfully into her hair.

#

Mycroft was cooking when Greg arrived back. Violet was safely enclosed in her play pen, or baby prison as Greg insisted on calling it, and babbling away in her serious little voice. She looked up at him as he dropped a kiss on her head, giving him a gummy smile, before returning her attention to a stuffed dinosaur to continue her diatribe.  
'I swear she could be Sherlock's,' Greg remarked, pulling off his tie as he went into the kitchen. He stopped when he laid eyes on Mycroft, who was in his favourite shirt, the pale green one that set off his hair. The one Greg had never been able to wait to rip off him. But more than that was the smell in the air, citrus salmon, and on the hob a pan of poached pears was simmering gently, and a bottle of wine was decanting on the side board.  
'Gregory,' Mycroft looked nervous.  
Greg felt like he was going to be sick. He swallowed it down and tried to smile.  
'Big night planned?'  
Again, there was that slight twitch before Mycroft spoke, 'Something like that, yes.'  
Greg could only nod as he took a step back, Oh. Well...good,' he needed to get away before he said something stupid, 'Tell you what, um...I'll put Violet down and then I'll get out of your hair.'  
And before Mycroft could respond, Greg was already out the door.

#

Mycroft stood very still in the kitchen after Gregory left, still holding his wine glass. With a shaking hand he set it down before he dropped it, then he reached out and turned the hob off, moving the pears to a cool ring. He didn't move again until he heard Gregory come back down the stairs and the front door close behind him.

#

'I was thinking,' Greg said the next morning as he poured himself a coffee, 'That it's time I started spending more time at my own place.'  
Mycroft looked over his paper at him, his expression unreadable.  
'I mean,' Greg went on, 'You're better now, and Vi is...well, Vi, and we could work out a rota. You know, she could alternate her nights with me and you, so...social lives and work and...things.'  
He trailed off, waiting for a reaction, praying that Mycroft knew what he was really trying to say.  
'Make me stay. Please. I don't want to go.'  
Mycroft pursed his lips slightly and then nodded, which was the only reaction Greg recieved.

#

'Stay. Please, just stay.'  
The words were there, screaming inside his head, desperate and broken.  
Mycroft pursed his lips to prevent them escaping and then nodded before returning to his paper.

#

One year later...

 

‘Sherlock?’ Lestrade sounded really angry when he called, ‘Did you teach my daughter to say ‘dick’?’  
‘No.’  
‘Sherlock!’  
‘It was John.’  
In the background John could be heard muttering, ‘Thanks a lot.’  
‘And why exactly did John do that?’  
It was an accident. He was shouting at me.’  
‘Great. Any other surprises I should know about?’  
‘...no?’

#

Violet was playing with her beloved building blocks as Mycroft was preparing a bag for her to take with her when there was the sound of a key in the door. Violet’s eyes went round and she looked up with excitement.  
‘Da!’  
‘Hello beautiful,’ Greg scooped his daughter up with a smile, and in his delight at seeing her, he wasn’t as wary of errant blocks as he should have been. The deftly weilded wooden block hit him hard in the mouth, and out of the corner of his eye Greg saw Mycroft fighting a smile.  
‘Thanks a lot,’ he pulled a face at his ex.  
‘If it’s any consolation she managed to get Sherlock in the eye last week.’  
‘That does make me feel a bit better, actually, yeah.’  
Greg poked his tongue out feeling the swelling there and tasting the slight tang of blood. Mycroft took sympathy on him and retrieved an anticeptic wipe and an icepack while Greg wrested Violet into her coat. Violet seemed quite pleased with her handy work and patted her father’s cheek.  
‘Great, I look like a real reprobate now,’ Greg complained, wincing at the slight sting of the wipe.  
Mycroft was busy locating Violet’s hat, which she hated with a passion.  
‘All the girls love a bad boy,’ he said with a smile.  
And then there was silence in the room that lasted just a little took long, and ended only when Mycroft succeed in getting Violet’s hat over her head, which caused Violet to wrinkle her nose, and Greg was certain the hat would be off before they made it as far as the car.  
‘Come on,’ Greg said, slightly too loudly and cheerfully in an effort to lighten the tension, ‘Sherlock wants to go to the aquarium and they’ll only let him in now if he has a police escort.’  
‘Lock!’ Violet cried, and then launched into a long babble that was accompanied by a stern little frown that reminded Greg of John when he went off on one of his lectures. Clearly Mycroft thought the same thing because he was smiling in a slightly worried sort of way.  
‘Do you think we let her spend too much time with those two?’ Greg asked, and then, aware that he was keeping his voice too casual, ‘Any plans for the evening? I can keep her overnight if...?’  
Mycroft looked at him for just a second too long, and then shook his head slightly, almost as if embarrassed.  
‘Okay,’ Greg nodded, ‘Well, I’ll see you at eight then.’  
Mycroft nodded and leaned over to kiss Violet one last time, and as he did, his chin brushed very lightly against Greg’s jaw, just for a split second.Greg closed his eyes.  
‘Mycroft...’ his voice was quiet and laden with a lot of words that they’d never said.  
But Mycroft had already stepped back and was smiling at Violet.  
‘Have a nice afternoon,’ he said calmly.  
Greg walked to the car with a lot on his mind.

#

Mycroft had just finished his shower and was prodding tenderly at the livid bruise a restless, and rather upset Violet had left on his shoulder the day before, taking her frustrations with her own teeth out on her father. Still, at least she hadn't hit Mycroft in the face with a building block. He smiled slightly at that as he walked into his bedroom, towel around his waist, only to find the man in question bending over the cot, tucking in a sleeping Violet.  
He would never admit to the startled noise he made as he dived for his robe.  
Gregory let out a soft snort.  
'I've seen you naked before, Myc.'  
But he hadn't seen him since Violet was born. He hadn't seen the massive scar that ran across his stomach, still angry and ragged looking, or the smattering of smaller ones that had been neatly stitched following the accident. No one had seen him naked since that day. Except himself. And he tried not to look at all.  
Gregory glanced over his shoulder at him and smiled, but then something in his expression changed slightly, his eyes lingered on Mycroft's torso, causing Mycroft to pull his robe further around him, belting it tightly.  
'What's that she's holding?' he asked, frowning.  
It took Gregory a second to answer as if confused about the question, 'What? Oh, um...a plastic shark. Won't let go of it. She formed quite an attachment to it in the gift shop. Of course, I had to buy Sherlock one too.' Gregory was speaking a little to fast, his voice a little too high. He made a great show of looking at his watch, 'I'd better get on.'  
'Okay.'  
And then he was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the end of this story. Only one more chapter or so to go. Thank you all for your kind comments - they have meant the world to me. You guys are the best.

Greg climbed the stairs to 221B slowly, balancing Violet on his hip while trying to fend off a plastic shark. The door to the flat was open, as always, and there was the sound of the vacuum cleaner in the background. Katie was laying on the sofa, hands steepled under her chin in a perfect immitation of Sherlock's thinking pose, she opened one eye and looked at him very briefly.  
He set Violet down, and she immediately waddled off towards the hallway to Sherlock's room, where Mrs Hudson was just switiching off the vacuum.  
'Hudders!' she squealed in delight, thrusting her shark up to show the older lady, 'Poodle.'  
Mrs Hudson bent down to take a closer look, smiling widely, 'That's nice dearie.'  
That was enough to set Violet off, and she started to babble with the air of one imparting great knowledge.  
John came out of the kitchen just then, 'Thought I heard you two.'  
'On your own?'  
Before John could answer, Katie piped up from the sofa, eyes still closed.  
'Lock was sent to his room for saying bad words.'  
Never Uncle Sherlock, always just Lock. There was probably some deep rooted psychological reason for the denial of the name, but, Greg personally thought, Uncle Sherlock was a bit of a mouthful for a small child.  
'Why was he saying bad words?' Greg frowned. Sherlock didn't often swear, that was more John's territory.  
'Boom,' said Katie ominously.  
Greg glanced past John towards the opening to the kitchen.  
'Bad?'  
John ran his tongue over his bottom lip and nodded sharply, 'Bad, yeah.'  
'How long has he been in there?'  
Glancing at the clock, John shrugged, 'About four hours.' He took in Greg's expression and sighed, 'Alright girls, why don't you go and get Lock.'  
Katie was immediately off the sofa and capturing Violet's hand in her hers as they dashed towards Sherlock's door.  
'And knock!' Greg shouted after them, 'God knows what he's doing in there.'  
'He'd better not be doing anything,' John said darkly, 'It took me ages to get the jam out of the sheets last time.'  
Jam? Greg smirked, and John, seeing his expression, coloured, 'It's not like that.'  
'Course it's not. You just care about his sheets.'  
'Greg, we've been through this.'  
Greg held up his hands, 'Okay, okay. None of my business.'  
'I'm not sleeping with Sherlock!' John said a little louder than normal.  
'Of course not,' Greg said, sharing a look with Mrs Hudson, 'You just sleep in his bed.'  
'Only when Katie is staying over.'  
It was an old conversation. Katie had taken over John's old room. So when she stayed over, John stayed in Sherlock's room and Sherlock...did whatever it was Sherlock did at night.  
'Have you boys any plans for Christmas?' Mrs Hudson asked as she fluffed the cushion on John's armchair.  
'Mummy's trying to get us to go to her,' John said, pulling a face, 'It's Mary's turn to have Katie. Are you and Mycroft going?'  
'I um...I'm not.' he said, and then because he was honest, 'I wasn't asked.'  
The previous Christmas he had still be staying at Mycroft's and they'd had a quiet day with Violet. But this year nothing had been discussed, and with only a few weeks to go, Greg realised he should probably bring it up. Although... it still sort of hurt to be exluded.  
There was an ear splitting scream and running feet and Violet and Katie appeared in the living room, face wide with smiles. Behind them there was a roar and Sherlock cleared the hallway in two long bounds, landing in the middle of the living room much to John and Greg's amusement. Katie promptly his behind John's legs, but Violet was smart enough to hold her arms up to be lifted by Greg - which put her at eye level with Sherlock, who she promptly hit with her shark. Sherlock dramatically fell to the ground, feining death. Katie started cheering and Violet giggled.  
Greg felt himself smiling indulengently, but then he felt John's gaze on him, concerned and knowing, and the smile slipped slightly.

#

A&E was crowded, but Greg pushed his way through the waiting room with practiced ease, flashing his ID at anyone who tried to approach him. He found Mycroft in a small cublicle, Violet on his knee, her face buried in his chest, her tiny hands gripping his shirt tightly. Mycroft looked up when Greg arrived, his face paler than normal.  
'Oh sweetheart,' Greg knelt down beside them and Violet turned to look at him, her eyes swollen and red, her cheeks tearstained and the front of her dress with small splatters of blood on it. On her forehead, under the clean dressing, there were two paper stitches. Violet reached out one hand for him, but was reluctant to let Mycroft go, which was how Greg found himself in an swkward sort of three-way hug, made worse when he overbalanced slightly and automatically reached out to grip Mycroft's knee to steady himself.  
'What happened?' he asked.  
'She hit herself in the head with one of her blocks.'  
'I told you those things were evil,' he said, moving so he could sit properly instead of kneeling.  
'You didn't have to come,' Mycroft said.  
'Of course I did.'  
It was well after midnight before they were able to leave. Mycroft was about to call his driver, but Greg insisted that he would take them home.  
'You can't wake the man at this time, Myc.'  
'It's his job.'  
'Get in the car.' Greg held the door open so Mycroft could lower Violet into her car seat.   
She didn't wake up as she was carried into the house and into her own room, previously the spare room, which was now painted a soft yellow that complimented the pale pine of Greg's old cot. The bed that had once been in there was now gone. Turning on the monitor, Mycroft and Greg went back downstairs.  
'Would you like some tea?' Mycroft asked politely.  
Greg shook his head, 'I should be going.'  
There was a pause, no longer than a heartbeat before Mycroft spoke, just a little too quickly, 'You could stay here.'  
'What?'  
Mycroft coloured slightly, 'It's very late. I wouldn't be happy about you driving across London at this hour. It makes more sense if you stay here.'  
All of a sudden Greg wanted nothing more. But he hesitated, trying to be practical.  
'Where? Voilet's got my room and no offence, but you own the worlds most uncomfortable sofa.'  
Greg smiled and shook his head, already reaching for his keys. He wasn't expecting what Mycroft said next.  
'Stay with me.'  
There was silence for a long moment, Greg stood with his back still to Mycroft, unsure what to say.  
'Myc...'  
'Oh Gregory,' Mycroft sounded impatient, 'It's just sleeping. And it's not as though you haven't slept there before.'  
'That was sort of different, Myc.'  
But Mycroft wasn't listening, already he was moving towards the stairs, 'I'll find you something to sleep in. I'm sure there are still some of your things here.'  
And with that he was gone, leaving Greg standing in the living room, wondering what the hell had just happened.

#

Greg changed quickly while Mycroft was in the bathroom, slipping in between the cool sheets, being sure to stay as far to his own side as he could, feeling at once supremely comfortable and incredibly awkward. He stretched slightly. God he'd missed this bed. It was the most comfortable thing he'd ever slept in. Mycroft had produced an old tshirt of Greg's that he used to sleep in, and it made Greg wonder what else of his Mycroft still had.  
When Mycroft finally appeared in his pyjamas, trailing the scent of expensive soap, and wearing his glasses, having removed his contacts in the bathroom, Greg couldn't help but smile at him.  
'I just checked on Vi,' Greg said as Mycroft climbed into his side of the bed, 'She's going to have one hell of a bruise tomorrow.'  
Mycroft looked completely distraught for a moment, and before he knew what he was doing, Greg reached out and squeezed his arm.  
'Hey, don't be like that. She's fine. Kids bounce.' Greg tried to sound cheerful and reassuring, but in truth it had shaken him up more than he cared to admit seeing his baby in hospital, even though he seemed to spend half of his life in hospital with various victims and colleagues, 'Now lie down and get some sleep.'  
Mycroft did as he was told, laying down on his side, back to Greg. Greg took the hint and moved slightly away from Mycroft. Neither of them said anything else.

#

When Mycroft climbed into bed, he paused for a second at Gregory’s touch, and then made up his mind and rolled over onto his side, his back to Gregory, hoping that Gregory would take the hint and wrap his arms around him like he used to do.  
There was a slight shift in weight of the bed and for one wonderful moment Mycroft waited to feel the wrap of arms around him, but instead Gregory moved away from him and Mycroft realised he had made a mistake. He swallowed his disappointment and closed his eyes, hoping sleep came quickly.

#

Mycroft was rudely awakened by a blow to the head with a plastic shark, followed by a deep laugh. He rolled over sleepily to find his daughter standing on his bed, supported by Gregory. Violet was frowning down at him.  
‘Up!’ She demanded, brandishing her shark like a sword.  
Mycroft looked from her to Gregory, who was kneeling on the bed, smiling, eyes bright.  
‘Did I sleep in?’  
Gregory shook his head, ‘Nah. I was up and hear this one, so we thought we’d come and see if you wanted some breakfast.’  
‘Up!’ Violet repeated, and then something Mycroft couldn’t make out, but which was punctuated by a shark being waved very close to his face.  
‘Some tea would be lovely,’ Mycroft conceded, raising himself up, ‘I’ll make it.’  
‘It’s alright,’ Gregory and Violet were already on their way to the door, ‘I know where everything is. Unless you’ve been rearranging the cupboards by stealth.’  
Mycroft watched them go, and allowed himself one small moment of contentment before he reminded himself that this was not his life.

#

Violet was chewing methodically on a piece of toast when Mycroft came downstairs, pulling on his robe as he went. Greg was still in his teeshirt and boxers, bare feet cold on the tiled floor as he set about scrambling eggs and pouring coffee so strong it could dissolve a spoon. Mycroft made a move to help, but Greg pointed to a chair with a wooden spoon and gave Mycroft a disapproving frown.  
‘Sit!’ he commanded, and indicated the coffee, ‘And watch out, love, it’s hot.’  
He had turned back to the eggs before he realised what he said, and he was thankful he had his back to Mycroft so they didn’t have to share an awkward look.  
‘Thank you,’ Mycroft said quietly.  
A few moments later Greg was setting down a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon that Mycroft balked at.  
‘Perhaps some oat-‘  
‘Eat it.’ Greg commanded as he set the plate down, and then, not knowing what possessed him, but suddenly filled with the need to do it, he dropped a kiss on the top of Mycroft’s head before walking to the counter to retrieve his own plate.  
By the time he sat down, both he and Mycroft were wearing carefully neutral expressions. Mycroft was feeding Violet scrambled eggs off his own plate and avoiding looking at Greg.  
‘You working today?’ Greg asked as he stirred sugar into his own coffee.  
‘No,’ Mycroft said slowly, ‘I thought I would take the day off after last night.’  
Greg nodded and tried to sound nonchalant as he spoke, ‘I’m off today…’  
‘Oh.’ Mycroft said in a tone that meant he already knew. Greg should have been annoyed, but he had long ago gotten used to Mycroft knowing his life before he did.  
‘Yeah,’ Greg said carefully, ‘Maybe we could take Violet out?’  
He was aware how hopefully pathetic he sounded, and focused intently on his own plate.  
‘I don’t think so,’ Mycroft said.  
‘Oh.’ Greg’s heart sank, ‘Okay. No worries.’  
Violet slammed her hand down in impatience as how long it was taking Mycroft to cut her another finger of toast. He handed it to her with a smile.  
‘Perhaps we could just stay here today,’ he said, not looking at Greg.  
Greg couldn’t keep the smile from his face.  
‘Yeah. Okay.’

#

Greg left Violet safely enclosed in her baby prison, where she was looking at her blocks with deep distrust, and went to find Mycroft, who was in the kitchen filling the kettle.  
Taking a deep breath to fortify himself, Greg decided to carry on pushing his luck, after all, it had worked so far this morning. He walked up behind Mycroft and put one hand on his hip. The other man stilled instantly.  
‘Myc,’ Greg breathed against the back of the other man’s shoulder.  
With that one word, Mycroft relaxed back against him, but didn’t utter a sound.  
‘I think we have a lot to talk about,’ Greg whispered, barely able to get the words out at all.  
Mycroft nodded, but before either of them could say anything, there was a crash from the living room.  
The two men dashed through to see Violet standing at the edge of her pen, throwing her blocks over the side. She waved one at her parents with an angry expression before sending it in an impressive arc towards the coffee table.  
‘Dick!’


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys have 'The Talk' in their own, special way.

'So,' Greg collected the errant blocks and the pieces of the vase Violet had managed to knock over with deadly accuracy.

Mycroft looked down at him, Violet in in his arms, ‘So?’

‘Don’t be an ass, Myc,’ Greg managed a smile, ‘You know what I’m trying to say.’

‘Actually,’ Mycroft said, transferring Violet to his other hip, ‘I think you’ll find that quite a lot of the last year and a half has resulted from me _not_ knowing what you are trying to say.’

Greg stared at him for a long time as he digested Mycroft’s words, and as much as he wanted to argue, he knew they were true.

‘You’re not so easy to understand yourself.’ He said eventually.

‘I always make myself perfectly clear.’

Greg couldn’t contain his snort.

‘What?’ Mycroft asked.

‘Myc, you are the king of misdirection, whether you do it on purpose or not.’

‘I don’t-‘

‘Look at us, Mycroft. Seriously. Take a look.’ Greg waved his hand towards their daughter, ‘Take Violet.’ Greg stared meaningfully at Mycroft, ‘You kept that a pretty good secret.’

‘I thought-‘

‘I know what you thought,’ Greg interrupted, ‘But it really hurt. I can’t deny that. How you managed to keep it a secret for so long is…truly outstanding. But again, not the point right now. What upset me was that you didn’t trust me.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘I know. And I’m sorry too. I didn’t even think about your feelings or what you wanted.’

‘It isn’t exactly something we could have compromised on.’

‘I know.’

‘It wasn’t intentional. I didn’t mean to-‘

‘I know that too,’ Greg swallowed, ‘I was completely unprepared for it,’ he said, trying hard to keep the resentment out of his voice, ‘I was so concerned for you, and all of a sudden I find out that you’ve been keeping pretty big secrets, and I don’t even have time to care about that because there’s suddenly this tiny little person and…’ Greg broke off and took a few breaths to steady himself, ‘I didn’t know what to do. It was, it was just too much. And I wanted to stay with you, but she was all on her own, and I…I went with her because I thought that’s what you would want me to do.’

Mycroft’s expression was heart-breaking in it’s pain. He nodded, just once.

‘So I went with her and I couldn’t get near her, and when I did she was…she was so small. And she looked just like you and…’

This time when he broke off he didn’t speak again, instead he just sat down on the sofa, a building block still in his hands. Mycroft hadn’t moved from his position by the door, but he was watching Greg carefully, Greg could feel his eyes on him.

‘Thank you.’ Mycroft said softly.

‘Don’t thank me, I left you with Sherlock.’

The groan from Mycroft was almost comical, ‘Sherlock watched the surgery?’

‘Of course he did,’ Greg couldn’t help but smile, ‘Did you think he was going to miss the opportunity to see them remove a live human being _and_ a major organ from your body?’

Mycroft was fighting a smile now too.

‘But don’t worry, I didn’t let him keep the kidney.’

‘Thank heavens for small mercies,’ Mycroft’s voice was deadpan, but he was smiling. He looked like he was going to say something else, but Violet had grown bored of the conversation and was wriggling to get down again, where upon she promptly headed to the toy basket in the corner and started to methodically pull every single item out of it.

That left Greg and Mycroft staring at each other across the room at each other, both wearing the same shy half-smile.

‘This is ridiculous,’ Greg said eventually.

‘I couldn’t agree more,’ Mycroft replied.

‘So,’ Greg tried again, ‘What now?’

At this Mycroft looked worried again.

‘I’m not sure. I don’t know if I’m ready to embark on another relationship after everything that’s-‘

‘Myc,’ Greg held up a hand, ‘It’s okay. It’s been a long time, and-‘

‘I’m not saying I don’t want to,’ Mycroft spoke loudly over him, causing Violet to glance over and tut before returning to her quest to find the bottom of the basket, ‘But it’s been a long time and there has been a lot of…’ he broke of with a shrug.

‘Yeah,’ Greg said, but he was smiling, ‘But you want to?’

Mycroft nodded.

‘And I want to.’

Mycroft didn’t respond.

‘But it’s gonna take time. For both of us. Right?’

Another nod.

‘So,’ Greg shrugged, ‘We take the time. Work it out. _Talk_ to each other.’

‘I find that to be a non-optional clause.’

‘Clause?’ Greg laughed, reaching out to grab Mycroft’s hand and pull him down onto the sofa beside him, ‘So you’re treating this as a business transaction?’

Mycroft’s lips twitched as he fought to keep his expression serious, ‘Of course.’

‘Full disclosure agreement?’ Greg played along.

‘Of course.’

Hmm. Then we should discuss transactional expectations.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Well, in return for taking up a position as full partner in this enterprise, I expect appropriate numeration.’

‘Well, naturally we can come to some kind of agreement.’

At this neither man could keep a straight face any longer, and Greg leaned forward and kissed Mycroft on the temple, then nodded to where Violet was trying to stretch her foot as far as her mouth.

‘Come on, I think her ladyship is trying to tell us she wants lunch.’


	7. Chapter 7

SIX MONTHS LATER

Greg walked slowly up the street towards Mycroft's house. Well, his house now too, he supposed. Mycroft had asked him to move in over Easter, but it had taken Greg nearly two more months to sort and pack his belongings. A lot of things had changed since Christmas, and a lot of things hadn't. Mycroft had declined the invitation to spend Christmas with his parents, which had upset Mummy and annoyed Sherlock, who had been counting on Mycroft's presence to deflect attention away from himself. Instead Mycroft had invited Greg to stay and they spent the day with and overexcited Violet who wore herself out by tea time and threw up on Greg twice. Greg hadn't really gone home since.

Although they spent the nights wrapped up together, that was the limit of their physical contact for many weeks, the exception being the occassional fleeting touch or brief, chaste kiss. And in a way it was nice. Comforting. Familiar. Slow. And that was what they needed.That, and to talk.At first it had been strange and slightly awkward to say everything he was thinking or feeling, and sometimes it was strangely sad and uncomfortable to hear Mycroft be open. But at the same time it was liberating and cathartic. There was no grand show down where they laid their hearts and soul on the table. Instead it came in small bursts, almost as and when something occurred to either of them, which meant some difficult conversations at entirely the wrong moment.

'You were seeing someone?' Mycroft asked too casually to have been spontaneous.

'No,' Greg could have laughed if it wasn't for the tone of Mycroft's voice, 'Were you?'

'I certainly was not.'Greg almost let it drop, but a memory rose in his mind and he found himself speaking again.

'So where did you get that love bite?'

'What...love bit?' Mycroft screwed his face in distate.

'That day I was putting Violet to bed and you came out of the shower...' Greg trailed off as his mind wandered back to that evening and the sight of Mycroft half naked.

'...shower?' Realisation dawned on Mycroft's face, and he sighed, 'Teething toddler.'

Greg stared at him in silence before laughing loudly.

'I don't know what you are laughing about. You were the one who was arranging dinner dates which kept you out all night.' although he was clearly trying to hide it, there was a note of hurt in Mycroft's voice.

'I can assure you that the only dinner dates I had were with John, during which I mostly talked about you until I got so drunk I thought it best if I stayed at my place rather than rack up to you and Vi smelling of cheap whisky.'

'Oh.' was all Mycroft could manage, but he looked both relieved and pleased, causing Greg to lean over and press a swift kiss to his lips.

A few weeks later they were laying in bed, tangled together, Mycroft's head tucked into Greg's shoulder.

'Why the spare room?'

'Didn't want to hurt you. You'd just had surgery and I move around a lot in my sleep,' Greg sighed.

Mycroft took a deep, thoughtful breath, 'I may have interpreted that the wrong way.'

And so it went. The slow unpicking of their mistakes and the saying of all the words they should have said. Until finally, finally, they were back on track. It had only taken them two years.

Greg opened the front door to find the house quiet, and a trail of clothes leading through the living room and half way up the stairs. Violet was going through her nude phase, stomping about the house with only Greg's old baby blanket and the much loved Poodle. Judging by the scatter pattern of socks and teeshirts, Mycroft had clearly had his hands full trying to keep the young madam clothed.

He found Mycroft hovering just inside the doorway to Violet's room, where she was sleeping in a pair of disposable pull up pants and her socks, her shark was clutched in one hand and her blanket in the other. Mycroft looked around and caught Greg's smile.

'We compromised.'

'You compromised?'

'It was the most prudent action at the time.'

Greg slid his hand around Mycroft's waist, 'You mean the British Government was trying to avoid a tantrum from our two year old?'

Mycroft chose not to answer that question, and instead leaned back against Greg, who was watching Violet sleep. And then Greg said something he never thought he would.

'How would you feel about another one?'

The look on Mycroft's face was one he would remember forever. Suprise, mixed with a strange combination of yearing and hope.'Really?'

Greg had known that Mycroft wanted more. He hadn't gotten around to saying it aloud, but he didn't have to. But until the moment he breathed that response, Greg had no idea how much Mycroft wanted more. Or, how much he did.Greg could only nod, already leading Mycroft towards their room with a smile.

'Of course,' he said, kissing Mycroft's shoulder, 'This means I'll have to marry you.'

'Marry-?'

'Yes,' Greg put on his most serious voice, 'Otherwise the neighbours would talk. Two children and not married? Honestly, the scandal.'

'You're mocking me.'

'Yes. But I'm serious about getting married.'

'Do I get a say in this?'

Greg pressed another kiss to Mycroft's neck, 'No, not really.'

'Are you going to propose like a gentleman?'

'Nope.'

'And whyever not?'

'Because a gentleman wouldn't do to you what I'm about to,' Greg smirked and lowered Mycroft onto the bed, knowing that there would be time to talk about it later.

 


End file.
